being older, now, i sit happy still and soak lear. as gently as. one can. and the scenes go and i wane. think defensively only an hour afterward. about being awake and open. the disc sips me momentarily sane. the tick and stick slow metronome. life. whirs. sometimes there is this. and i am thankful. for the storm. and for what i know about life and for the things that sometimes we get so tired we fail to notice. the tragedy. but first.

he rages. on the heath. and there.




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